


Even In Different Lives, We Always Find Each Other

by RagingBookDragon



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fighting, Guns, Haytham Kenway is an Assassin, Heavy Angst, Humor, Romance, Shay is the Grandmaster, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:01:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25274353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RagingBookDragon/pseuds/RagingBookDragon
Summary: When she and Connor discover a tree that contains a Piece of Eden, it sends them to an alternate dimension where Connor's parents are still alive, both assassins, Shay is the grandmaster, and the British are still here! It's a Romeo and Julie scenario, but neither are planning on dying at the end of this story. But how does one make it back home when you're fighting on opposite sides?
Relationships: Ratonhnhaké:ton | Connor/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	1. The Haunted Tree

**Author's Note:**

> I legit was compelled to write this story and I sure as shit sat down and wrote the first three parts. So enjoy! And thank you for reading! -Thorne

“So, word is from the travelers that they were seeing flashes of light and otherworldly figures.” He looked up from where he was focused on the laces of his hidden blade as she walked towards him, the door to the tavern shutting behind her.

“Did they have any information on what might be causing such things?” She shook her head and he walked beside her as they made their way to the stables.

“No, but I think we both know what was Ratonhnhaké:ton.” As they reached the stables, he glanced at her, murmuring,

“You think it is a Relic of Eden, (Y/N)?” Inhaling deeply, she pulled the reins, climbing into the saddle.

“It’s extremely likely that it is.” She watched as he climbed onto his own horse. “From what you told me about the apple you found and what you experienced…the,” waving her hands around, she hoped the words would come to her, “alternate world…I’ve no doubt it probably is.” They started beside one another, the horses trotting calmly to the grounds.

“I would not like to experience such a horror again.” (Y/N) frowned beneath her hood, remembering how Connor told her of Washington’s tyranny and having to watch his mother die again.

“I agree…we should hurry and find it before someone else does.”

“At least the templars are not here to fight us for it.” (Y/N) snickered, leading her horse up a path.

“Be careful what you wish for Ratonhnhaké:ton, we might be met with someone else.” He grunted following behind.

“I hope not.” The rest of the way was filled with silence, each assassin wondering their own thoughts of what the mission would hold. Suddenly, their horses began to fight against their control, and they halted, looking back at one another and nodding. (Y/N) climbed down, tying the reins to a tree before glancing around, listening carefully. Connor stepped beside her, evidently thinking the same. “It is too quiet. I do not hear birds or other wildlife.” She nodded, murmuring,

“Agreed…much too quiet for a forest this large.” She let him take point, close behind, she kept a tight grip on her pistol, expecting anything and everything. What seemed to worry her more than the stillness was how dark it was becoming the further they walked in. By her watch, it was five in the evening, and the sun was still casting its light across the land. But every foot forward seemed to dim the light as if night had fallen and the moon had risen in its place. “It’s getting darker than it should.” Connor didn’t say anything, but the way he held a hand back toward her told he was just as unnerved by it.

They walked for almost an hour before an opening appeared before them. Both hesitated slightly as they moved closer, and (Y/N) reached out, placing a hand to his shoulder. “Ratonhnhaké:ton.” He nodded, pulling his own pistol before cocking back the hammer.

“I know.” She clenched her jaw, and they took the next few steps into the clearing. (Y/N) lowered her gun as they stood, murmuring,

“Is it just me, or does a solitary tree seem…strange?” Connor said nothing, simply tipping his chin in the opposite direction. She rolled her eyes but raised her pistol again, splitting apart from him. Neither could help casting their eyes to the other as they walked a circle around the tree to the other side. When they met, they lowered their arms and he said,

“There is no exit pathway…only an entrance.” (Y/N) holstered her pistol, turning her attention to the tree.

“Maybe they got stuck and thought they were seeing flashes of light?” Directing her gaze to the crown of the tree, Connor made a noise of warning as she walked underneath. (Y/N) pulled the hood away and gasped, jaw dropping as she breathed, _“Ratonhnhaké:ton…you need to see this.”_ He pulled his own hood down, hurrying to stand beside her as he looked up. And as he did, the shock she’d felt was suddenly cast into him.

“I…I have no words.” She nodded, whispering,

“They were right.” Their eyes were full of flashes as a light shifted between the branches at a rapid pace. (Y/N) felt amazement crawl through her, then a buzzing sound filled her ears; her brows furrowed, and she asked, “Do you hear that?” Evidently, he did as well because he nodded, and she pointed to the trunk. “I think it’s coming from inside the tree.” She looked back at him, waiting for his okay; when he nodded, they walked up, placing their hands against it. (Y/N) huffed in disbelief, catching Connor’s eyes. “Do you feel that? The vibrations?” He nodded, stating,

“It feels like the tree is alive and moving.” She hummed and tried to pull her hand back, but she couldn’t. She cocked an eyebrow and tried again, but still, she couldn’t move it.

_“Ratonhnhaké:ton, I can’t move my hand.”_ Dark brows furrowed and he tried to reach over with his hand but found he couldn’t move as well.

“I cannot either.” Panic began building in her body and she breathed deeply to avoid thrashing wildly.

“Okay, I’m starting to worry now.” He shifted his other hand, intent to lay it on her shoulder.

“Do not worry, it will be okay.” (Y/N) turned her head, retorting,

“Darling, I appreciate that you’re trying to calm me, but at the moment, my hand is stuck to a tree that I now _strongly_ _believe_ is _haunted_. I can’t remove my hand. That worries me.” Connor grinned, and as he rested his hand on her shoulder, the light that had been flashing above them exploded into sparks. They ducked as well as they could, and before they managed to do anything, the sparks rained down on them. As they touched their robes and bodies, the world began to darken around them and she cried, _“Ratonhnhaké:ton!”_ He tightened his grip on her, but she could barely feel it and he yelled her name in a panic.

_“(Y/N)!”_ With a second deafening explosion, her consciousness faded, and she fell into darkness.


	2. Out Of The Frying Pan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly waking up in a jail cell, all she's concerned about is where she is and why she's there. When the least likely person sets her free, it only adds to her confusion. He's calling her a templar, but as far as she knows, she's always been an assassin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I attempted a summary for the second chapter! I should get a gold star! Enjoy! -Thorne

A throbbing pain shot through her brain and she rolled over, hands reaching for her head. She let out a groan as the pain amplified, muttering, “Ratonhnhaké:ton?” No response came and she grunted, opening her eyes to look around. “Ratonhnhaké:ton? Where are you?” When she was greeted by cold stone walls and iron bars, she shot up. Despite the pain, she rose to her feet, stumbling to the cell door. “Ratonhnhaké:ton!” Her eyes shifted back and forth, and she reached out, waving her arm, hoping to get attention. “Hey! Is someone out there!” A hand shot from outside the gate, catching her wrist. They bent it down and she let out a cry of pain, yanking her arm back. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” The soldier glared at her, spitting,

“Stop shouting murderer.” Her eyes went wide, and immediately the pain was the farthest thing from her mind.

_“Excuse me? What did you just say?”_ He scoffed at her.

“Oh, don’t try to play dumb. Your execution is still going to happen.” He grinned, leaning forward. “But if you want to shake sheets one more time before you die, I’d be happy to oblige Cormac.” In one hand, the absolute anger she felt would’ve trumped her disgust, but the surname rose atop it. In that moment, she knew something was seriously wrong, and she jerked forward, grabbing his coat through the bars. He tried to yell, but she slammed him forward, face hitting the bars; he groaned, and she hissed,

_“What did you just call me?”_ He seemed confused, sputtering,

“W-what?” She yanked him again, repeating,

_“You called me Cormac. Why?”_

“Because it’s your name? (Y/N) Cormac.” She shook her head, retorting,

_“My name is (Y/N) Kenway. I haven’t taken the surname Cormac since I was a child.”_ He seemed at a loss for words, and before she could ask more, another soldier appeared, pointing his musket at her.

“Let go or I will fire!” (Y/N) frowned, but obeyed, raising her hands beside her head. The first soldier stepped back, rubbing the side of his face that was reddening; she smirked, and the second man said, “Get her out. The execution is proceeding to plan.” She looked to the second soldier, calling,

“Wait, I need to know what I’m being charged with.”

“I told you, murder.” (Y/N) looked to the first, deadpanning,

_“No shit jackass, I meant who.”_

“Brigadier General Benedict Arnold.” She cocked an eyebrow questioning,

_“The turncoat?”_ The soldiers seemed just as confused and the second one said,

“Turncoat? What are you talking about? Benedict Arnold has always served His Majesty’s army.”

_“No, Benedict Arnold was a patriot who defected to the British army.”_ (Y/N) shook her head, crying. _“What the hell is going on here!”_ The first soldier unlocked her cell, pulling her by the arm.

“You’re going to hang for murdering a member of the Royal Army.” She thrashed in his grip as he led her to the doors.

_“Wait, this is a misunderstanding! I swear I didn’t kill him!”_

“It’s too late for you, we have witnesses!”

_“Who?! Let me talk to them! Please, just give me some time!”_

“Your time is up! You will pay for your crimes!” (Y/N) tried to jerk, but a sharp pain and a quick look to her side showed her the second soldier with his musket. She stopped resisting, using her time to try and think of a plan. They stepped out onto the street and she was immediately greeted by the sight of angered colonists, some spitting at her, others hurling curses and foul words. Her eyes scanned the top of the buildings and they went wide at the sight of the English flag blowing in the wind. They shoved her to the platform, hauling her up before standing her on the box, the noose lowering around her neck. Her heart hammered in her chest as they read her crimes, and the crowd began to cheer.

“(Y/N) (Y/M) Cormac, you stand before the citizens of Boston, charged with murdering war hero Brigadier General Benedict Arnold. Witnesses have come forward with their testimonies, telling of how you stood above him and smiled as he took his last breath.” He turned to her. “It is shameful for me to even say, but _god have mercy on your soul_.” The hangman locked the noose against her neck and (Y/N) could barely hear anything, her heartbeat and breathing so loud in her ears. She was about to die for a crime she didn’t even know she’d committed. The man’s hand curled around the lever and she started hyperventilating, praying for anything to happen that would get her out of this.

Just as the man started to pull, an angered, accented voice called over the crowd. _“By order of Major General Pitcairn, this farce is over!”_ The hangman stopped and (Y/N) drew her eyes to the crowd, watching a man in templar robes step out, a scroll in his hand. He waved it at the soldier. “Pitcairn has halted this execution and pardoned (Y/N) Cormac.”

“She is a murderer!”

“She was trying to prevent his murder! New evidence has come to light proving that (Y/N) Cormac is innocent!” The accented man, one she recognized as Irish, stepped onto the platform, handing the soldier the letter; he took it, reading it over, then looked back at the hangman, nodding to her.

“This is Major General Pitcairn’s seal. She’s been officially pardoned. Let her go.” The hangman obeyed, removing the noose, and undoing her binds, and (Y/N) dropped to her knees, taking deep breaths as she tried to calm herself. The templar knelt beside her, a warm hand on her back as he whispered,

_“Come (Y/N), we need to leave.”_ Part of her wanted to say no, a man she didn’t know, a templar no less, but the other part told her that if she stayed, she’d never get answers. Nodding her head, she let him pull her up. He led her from the screaming crowd to a quiet street, and she inquired,

“Not that I don’t appreciate the save, but who are you?” He stopped, eyeing her with concern.

“Did they hit you on the head?” Seeing her brows furrow in confusion, he sighed, _“It’s me? Dear old dad?”_ (Y/N)’s eyes went wide, and she breathed,

_“Shay?”_ He cocked an eyebrow, voice lowering as he corrected,

_“You have more respect than that to call me by my first name (Y/N) Cormac.”_ Unused to such a tone, she winced, apologizing,

_“Uh-sorry, sir.”_ He looked down at her.

_“You should be.”_ Her mouth dropped open and he denounced, _“You’re damn lucky I got here in time.”_ She floundered for words. _“I told you not to leave Arnold’s side and what did you do? You left! And an assassin came in and murdered him and you were blamed! You were almost hanged over a crime you didn’t commit!”_ (Y/N) felt dumbfounded at the revelation and she questioned,

_“Wait…are we…am **I** a templar?”_ Shay stared at her with shock, then he gently raised his hands feeling around her face and head. When he reached the back of her head, she let out a cry of pain and he pulled away, frowning,

“You’ve been hit in the head.” (Y/N) reached up, prodding the epicenter of the pain. “You must’ve taken a hit when they took you to the jail.” He let out a sigh and she stared at him, then he softly pulled her into his arms, hugging her gently. She didn’t know how to react. She’d never met the man, and here he was hugging her. He sighed into her hair, whispering, _“I thought I was going to lose my precious girl.”_ She curled her arms around his middle, awkwardly patting his back.

“I’m sorry I worried you Sh- _father_.” The word tasted strange in her mouth and he pulled away, a look of relief on his face.

_“What matters is that you’re still here.”_ He tipped his head to the exit. “C’mon. We need to get to the doctors so you can get checked out.” (Y/N) shook her head, pleading,

“No, I’m fine, really.” He raised an eyebrow, mouth opening to retort, but she was quicker. “Really, I’m good. I just need to get some rest and I’ll be back to normal.” Shay seemed unconvinced but conceded.

“Alright, alright. If you say so.” Turning, he added, “Then let’s get back to the Morrigan for an update. We’ve still got missions to take care of.” (Y/N) furrowed her brows, inquiring,

“And those are?” He didn’t look back at her as he responded,

“Hunting down the assassins in the colonies.” She sucked in a breath, mind going to Connor. _Connor!_ (Y/N) looked to her father, asking,

“Who’s the grandmaster here? Since Haytham is dead, it can’t be him.” At that, he paused, turning to stare at her.

_“What are you talking about?”_ She blinked, replying,

_“Haytham Kenway, son of pirate-assassin Edward Kenway, taken in by Reginald Birch after he had the Kenway house destroyed?”_ She shook her head. _“Haytham Kenway was the grandmaster of the Colonial Templar Rite from like seventeen-fifty-four to seventeen-eighty-one.”_ Shay shook his head taking a step towards her, advising,

_“(Y/N), I really think we need to get you to the doctor.”_ She couldn’t fight the huff of laughter that escaped her, and she said,

“Why? I feel fine.” He took another step, explaining,

_“First and foremost, he isn’t dead.”_ Her eyes went wide and he added _, “And secondly, because Haytham Kenway isn’t the grandmaster, nor has he ever been a member of the templar order.”_ (Y/N), stunned, managed to blurt,

_“Excuse me?”_ Shay nodded.

_“(Y/N), Haytham Kenway isn’t a templar. He’s an assassin.”_


	3. And Into The Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All roads lead to home, right? He's hoping she's done the same and traveled back to the Homestead. But when he arrives, he's greeted by ghosts, and the only thing more concerning than them is the fact that they're assassins and she's supposedly a templar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously should get gold stars for managing summaries in more chapters. Enjoy! -Thorne

His head throbbed with sharp pains causing his nose to scrunch up. With it came something tickling his nose and he reached up, rubbing it away. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to work through the pain. When it had subsided, even if just a bit, he opened them, immediately closing them when the sun shone in them. He rolled to his side, cracking one open, muttering, “(Y/N)?” Blinking the haze from his eyes and mind, he sat up and looked around. She wasn’t in sight and he climbed to his feet, yelling her name, _“(Y/N)!”_ The only response he received was the disturb of the birds in the tops of the trees. He began to panic, but her voice echoed in his mind, soft and calming.

_Ratonhnhaké:ton, you need to relax._

“I cannot relax, you are not here! I do not know where I am! Where you are!”

_And what if we are lost? What can we do but find our way back to each other?_

“I do not even know where to start.”

_Go home. All paths lead from where we start._

“How can I find home if I do not know where I am?” As quick as her voice came, it faded and Connor sighed, reaching up to rub his eyes. Lowering his hands, he took in his surroundings, catching sight of the river. “All rivers lead to civilization.” He took a step forward but stopped and looked down, suddenly concerned with his gear. To his surprise, nothing seemed out of order, his robes and weapons were all there. He took a deep breath and started towards the river hoping it led to something.

** A Few Hours Later: **

By the time Connor managed to make it to any sign of higher intelligence, the sun was well past setting in the sky, barely peeking from the mountain ridges it was lowering behind. He stepped into the town, promptly seeing the number of British soldiers walking around. Confusion bled through him at the sight, but he opted to avoid an open conflict as long as possible, creeping in the shadows until he came to the tavern. Slipping inside, he walked up to the bartender, asking, “Excuse me, where am I?” The man looked him over before scoffing,

“You fall and hit your head boy?” Though his jaw clenched at the insult, he ignored it, answering with,

“Actually, yes, I have. That is why I am asking you where I am.” The man seemed to falter a bit, stuttering out,

“Oh, well, my bad.” Connor waved his hand and the bartender said, “You’re in Salem.” His eyes went wide, and he repeated,

“I am in Salem?” The man nodded and Connor looked away, muttering, “Then the homestead is northeast of here. ” He turned back to the bartender inquiring, “Why are there British soldiers here? I thought they went back to England?” The man pointed to the door.

“Now you’re fucking with me. Get out of my bar before I have you chased out.” Connor frowned at the response but shook his head and turned, walking to the doors. He stepped outside, heading northeast, a collection of thoughts running though his mind.

** The Next Morning: **

He didn’t know what to expect when he stepped into the homestead. Emptiness? Everyone the same? Something churned deep inside him and he had a terrible feeling that what had occurred the year before with Washington is what had happened to him and (Y/N). His heart yearned for her, to know if she was safe, but he knew that if she was here, she’d tell him to stay focused. So, that’s what he did, walking inside the gates. The laughter of children caught his attention and he watched a few of them running around, playing games. He smiled and looked around at the residents still there. Connor inhaled deeply, walking farther when the sight of a particular man stopped him dead in his tracks. He swallowed thickly, throat closing up as he called, _“Father?”_ The man turned to him, a relieved look crossing his face as he ran over, enveloping him in a hug.

“For god’s sakes Ratonhnhaké:ton! The next time you leave, you need to warn us!” Connor pulled away and looked at Haytham, but could only manage,

“What did you just call me?” His father offered him a confused look, repeating,

_“Ratonhnhaké:ton? Your name?”_ He shook his head.

“You have always called me Connor.”

“I don’t ever recall using such a name.” Connor shook his head, staring at his father. Haytham frowned, asking, “Are you alright son? You look upset.” His son raised a hand, rubbing his forehead, replying,

_“Everything has changed again.”_ Understanding that his worst fear had come true once more, he lowered his hand questioning, “Is…is mother here?” Haytham nodded.

“Yes, she’s at the manor meeting with Achilles.” Connor’s eyes went wide.

_“The old man is still here?”_

“Yes?” Haytham said in confusion, “Achilles has been leading the brotherhood for long time now. Though it’ll soon be time for a new mentor to take leadership.” He waved a hand and his son followed him as they walked towards the manor. Among the list of growing problems, Connor couldn’t help but ask,

“Are you sure it is safe for you to be here father?” Haytham tossed a look over his shoulder, one swimming with perplexity.

“As safe as it is for you. Why?” Before his son had a chance to respond, a woman stepped out the door and his eyes went wide.

“Mother!” Connor took off up the path, only slowing when he came to stand before her. She arched an eyebrow, mocking,

_“Ratonhnhaké:ton! Why are we yelling!”_ He huffed a laugh, and though he knew it wasn’t entirely real, he couldn’t help but pull her into a hug, burying his face in her neck. Ziio reached up and patted his back, tossing a glance at Haytham who shrugged. When they pulled away, she cupped his cheeks, wondering, “You disappeared last night with no explanation. Where were you?” Connor fumbled for words and Haytham walked up, placing his hand on his shoulder.

“Love, he was probably out hunting and fell asleep. There’s no need to worry so much.” Evidently, the response didn’t appease her because she retorted,

“He has a wife at home. He should not be doing,” She gestured to Connor, trying to find the words, then settled for, “whatever it was that he was doing.” Haytham chuckled but Connor’s heart hammered in his chest at the mention of her and he said,

_“Where is she? Where is my wife? Is she here?”_ His mother stared at him with concern.

“Ratonhnhaké:ton, she is back in the village.” His brows furrowed at her answer.

 _“What do you mean? Why is she there?”_ Ziio’s response was cut off by a man creaking the door open and informing,

“Master Haytham, you and Ratonhnhaké:ton are needed.” Haytham squeezed Connor’s shoulder before disappearing into the house, his son following. They stepped into the study, and Connor was greeted by an older, but not crippled Achilles, and a few others he didn’t recognize. He grabbed Haytham’s wrist, hissing,

_“Father, it is unsafe for you to be in the presence of assassins. You need to leave.”_ Haytham turned to respond when Achilles stepped forward, holding out his arm to his father, who took it.

“Haytham, it is good to see you again. The brotherhood is lesser when you are not around to help guide it.” Connor watched with amazement as Achilles greeted Haytham with a warm welcome. To even more surprise was his father’s reaction, a rare smile.

“I apologize for being away so long Achilles. My business in London took longer than I thought it would.” Before Achilles could respond, Connor, with bewilderment written across his face, sputtered,

_“You-you are an assassin?”_ The two men pulled away and Haytham turned to his son.

“Ratonhnhaké:ton, you’ve been acting strange since coming home. What happened last night?” Connor couldn’t even form the right answer.

_“But…but the templars?”_ His father nodded.

“Yes? What about them?”

_“Are you not their grandmaster? Their leader?”_ The other assassins laughed, but a pinched look crossed Haytham’s face as he retorted,

_“Look, I know I might act like an overbearing-order-oriented-bastard, but I assure you I am not a templar.”_ He shook his head. _“You know I’m an assassin Ratonhnhaké:ton. I was raised by my father in the English Brotherhood before coming to the colonies.”_ Connor’s mouth opened and shut, and a man stepped inside, a solemn look on his face. Immediately the room turned grim and he walked over to Achilles, reporting,

“Sir, she’s been pardoned.” His mentor’s eyes went wide, voice full of disbelief.

“What?” The assassin nodded.

“Her father had Pitcairn sign a letter of pardon when he discovered who assassinated Arnold.” Connor, who’d been listening in, questioned,

“Pitcairn? John Pitcairn? He is alive?” The two assassins eyed Connor before turning back to one another.

“And where is she now?” The man sighed, before handing him a scroll; Achilles read it over before hissing, “Damn. She’s back with Shay.” The name struck something in Connor, who’d grown tired of being ignored and cut off, and he stepped forward, voice raised as he commanded,

_“I know that name. Shay Cormac. He is an assassin turned templar. But who is this woman you are speaking of?”_ Haytham rested a hand on his arm.

“Ratonhnhaké:ton, calm down.” Achilles looked Connor over, before telling him,

“(Y/N) Cormac. She was pardoned from her crimes and escaped hanging. We’re trying to hunt her down.” With his heart skipping a beat, Connor lurched forward, curling his hands in Achilles’ robes.

_“What do you mean she escaped hanging?! Why was she to hang in the first place?! What has happened?!”_ The other assassins in the room started to yell, trying to split the two apart.

“You’d best let go child.” Connor’s eyes narrowed and he growled,

_“I am not afraid of you, old man. Now tell me why (Y/N) is being hunted. Why are you hunting one of your own?”_ Haytham came into view and placed a hand on his forearm.

“Let him go.”

_“No. Not without answers.”_

“She is being hunted down because she is a templar, you know this.” Connor let go of Achilles as if he’d been struck by lightning, turning to face his father.

_“(Y/N) is not a templar, she is an assassin. Her father was one, but that does not mean she is one by default.”_ He glowered at Haytham. _“She is a proud member of the Colonial Brotherhood.”_ Achilles scoffed, glancing at Haytham.

_“Your boy must be disillusioned Haytham.”_ His father sighed, turning Conner back to face him.

“Ratonhnhaké:ton, (Y/N) Cormac is a templar. She has been since her father raised her as one.” As if the very words stung him, Connor muttered,

“What are you talking about?”

_“Shay Cormac is the grandmaster of the Colonial Templars, and (Y/N) is his top assassin hunter.”_


	4. An Admittance Of Faulty Memories PT. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's not exactly sure what to expect being on the Morrigan. Sure, boats are common ground for her, but this one isn't. He sees his young daughter, but she still sees a stranger. Hopefully she can get back soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAN LET'S GO! So the title says PT.1, the next chapter will be PT.2. Yes, I know it's weird to have 'parts' in a chapter story, but bear with me, I didn't know how to title the two of them lol. Enjoy! -Thorne

The gentle sway of a ship wasn’t something uncommon to her; she’d spent more than a few days aboard the Aquila with Connor, not that they spent their time swaying gently. But this ship? Her father’s ship? It felt unknown because it _was_ _unknown_. She resisted the urge to keep pacing around the captain’s cabin, resisting even more to snooping through his things. Even if it would give her answers, it still felt wrong. He’d left some time ago to fetch a doctor, since she’d absolutely refused to go to one, insisting she was fine. However, with each passing second, he grew more unconfident about her state, finally making a deal that if he brought her somewhere comfortable would she see a doctor. She agreed, and here she sat for the last hour. Naivety on her part wondered what was taking him so long, experience told her that he was searching for a doctor they could trust. Likely a doctor for the templars. Just as the thought crossed her mind, the doors to the cabin opened up, and in came her father, followed by a man that made her blurt out, _“Benjamin Church?”_ The doctor smiled as he entered the cabin.

“I’m glad to see you remember me Miss (Y/N). Even more so to see you’re alive.” She blinked, still a bit stunned, because she very much so remembered watching Connor kill him. She quickly hid it, nodding along.

“As am I, sir.” Shay walked over to her, laying a hand on her shoulder.

“How are you feeling?” (Y/N) offered him a satisfied nod, replying,

“I’m feeling a little better.” Trying to make the situation lighter, she quipped, _“Not everyday you escape your execution.”_ Though Benjamin and she laughed, Shay didn’t, a frown spreading across his features. (Y/N) cleared her throat, adding, “Anyways, Mister Church, I assume you’re here for me.” He nodded, walking over to her.

“Master Shay said you took a nasty wound to the head that’s resulted in some state of amnesia.” She tossed a quick glare at her father, who seemed unperturbed by it, offering his own mocking look; she glanced back at Benjamin and said,

“It’s not that serious sir.” An unconvinced expression crossed his face and he looked to Shay who muttered,

_“She thinks Haytham Kenway is a templar.”_ (Y/N) couldn’t fight the sigh that left her mouth and Benjamin remarked,

“So, it’s not a case of amnesia, but one of altered memories?” She shook her head, holding up a hand, to correct,

“No, I remember things, it’s just…it’s just-” He cut her off with a flurry of questions.

“Who’s the current king?”

“King George the Third is the King of England.”

“What’s the year?”

“Seventeen-eighty-four, one year after the revolutionary war.” Their brows furrowed at her words and he asked curiously,

“Who won the revolutionary war?” The way he gave her the inquiry made her pause, and she opened her mouth, but nothing seemed to come out other than an unsure,

“The…patriots?” Benjamin shared a glance to her father, before tipping his head. They turned, discussing something, but she listened carefully.

_“I’ve not seen anything like this sir. She answered the first question well, but the others…”_ He trailed off and her father added,

_“Distorted memories?”_ Benjamin nodded and (Y/N) grunted, banging her heel against the bed frame, causing them to look back at her.

_“Hey, if you’re going to talk about me like I’m crazy, at least do it where I can’t see or hear. I’d like to preserve some sense of dignity.”_ The doctor fumbled for words, but Shay eased,

“(Y/N), we don’t think you’re crazy, but you’re remembering things that have not and have never happened.” She met his gaze and he knelt beside her, gently taking her hands in his. “The revolutionary war ended in seventeen-seventy-seven, and the Crown won. We saw to this.” To say she was shocked was to say the least and it obviously showed on her face because Benjamin stepped over, placing a hand on Shay’s shoulder.

“Sir, might I suggest letting her read up on the reports to right her memories? I think telling her might only disturb her state more.”

“You mean she needs to see it herself to believe it again.” He nodded and Shay sighed, squeezing her hands. “I understand.” The doctor smiled at her, politely stating,

“I’ll also need to check out the wound on your head.” (Y/N) waved him off, remarking,

“There’s no need. It’s not an open wound. It’s internal.”

“Miss (Y/N)-” A flicker of irritation simmered inside her and she bit out,

_“I’m. Fine.”_ He pursed his lips, but tipped his head and Shay said,

“Benjamin, I’ll show you out.” The two left and (Y/N) stood from the bed, hands immediately rising to grip her head, palms pressed tightly to her temples as if it would find whatever it was she was missing. As she walked to the side of the cabin, she caught sight of a few pieces of parchment nailed to the wall, prompting her to step closer and examine them. Children’s drawings, but with her signature and initials in the corner. A sad smile crossed her lips as she looked at the one in the middle, obviously a poorly drawn picture of her father and her holding hands. Footsteps sounded beside her, followed by his low voice. “You drew that when you were six.” (Y/N) didn’t look back at him, simply letting out a low hum. “It’s my favorite one next to the one you drew of me in my whaler suit.” Shay chuckled. “It’s still surprising that you’re the reason we don’t go hunting at sea anymore.” At that, she turned her head, gazing at him.

_“Beg pardon? My fault?”_ He nodded, a grin on his lips as he retold,

“We’d anchored the ship one day when we saw a killer whale to hunt.” His lips pulled into a small smile. “You watched the entire time from the side of the ship, but when you realized what we were doing, you started screaming for me to stop.” (Y/N) frowned and retorted,

_“Well…they’re living animals.”_ Shay huffed a laugh, nodding his head.

“Oh, believe me, I know.” He looked at her. “When we came back aboard you cried all evening and told me I couldn’t hunt sea animals anymore.” A smile of her own grew and she glanced back at the wall.

“And it worked, I see.”

“It did.” They fell into a silence, and she muttered,

_“I’m sorry I can’t seem to remember what’s happened.”_ Shay didn’t respond for a moment, then he questioned,

_“…How much do you remember?”_ (Y/N) felt her jaw loosen and she shrugged unsurely.

“I…I don’t even know if what _I_ _know_ is what really happened.” She looked at her father, and for a moment, he seemed so alien to her. “I know things. I know about life and all it’s ups and downs, I know all my training and skills, I know about the templars and assassins, but…” A haunted look came across her and she whispered, _“But I don’t remember this,”_ she gestured to the wall of drawings before looking at him sadly. _“And I don’t remember you.”_ (Y/N) could tell the words did more than hurt him, but she figured honesty was needed in a situation like this. _“I’m sorry if that hurts you…dad…but…it’s the truth.”_ He was quiet for a minute, then he took a step towards her gently placing his hands on her shoulders, turning her to look at him. When she did, he murmured earnestly,

_“Then we’ll help you remember.”_ She tried to smile, but the more she tried, the more a grimace formed, and Shay squeezed her shoulders, adding, “But you need to get some rest.” He pulled away, nodding to the bed. “I still have things to take care of. You can rest here if you’d like.” (Y/N) shook her head, asking,

“Is it okay if I go for a walk? I think I need some fresh air.” His features turned hesitant and he advised,

“I’m not too keen on you going out after what just happened.”

“Why?”

“Well, you almost _died_. We’ve received reports that Achilles has multiple assassins hunting you down. You’re a walking targ-” (Y/N) narrowed her eyes, challenging,

_“I can take care of myself.”_ Shay fixed her with a hard stare, countering,

_“I know you can. Be that as it may, I don’t want you leaving the pier unless I tell you to.”_ She sighed, wanting to argue, but she couldn’t deny that his words had some ground. She might be in Boston, but _this_ _Boston wasn’t hers_ , _wasn’t what she was used to_. If she wanted to get out and back to Connor, she’d need to brush up on who the templars and assassins were in this world, and who could help her get out. (Y/N) waved a hand sending him off.

_“Point taken.”_ Shay gave a satisfied nod and she asked, “Benjamin mentioned reports I could read over.” He pointed to a shelf and she glanced at it.

“Those are all the reports we’ve filed in the past few years.” He waved a finger. “Blue spines are high profile reports on assassins, red spines are informants and members of the templars. You might want to look those over.” (Y/N) nodded and looked back at him.

“Got it.” Shay smiled at her, reaching up to rest a hand on her head, lightly, he patted her.

“You’ll be okay (Y/N). Just take some time to rest.” Returning his smile with a less than cheerful one he hugged her before pulling away, heading for the doors. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Remember,” he warned. _“Don’t leave the pier.”_ Sarcasm rolled over her tongue, but she locked it, replying,

“Yes sir.” When the door shut, she turned to the books and muttered, _“Alright, which one of you will tell me how to get out of Boston.”_


	5. An Admittance Of Faulty Memories PT. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Challenging the mentor didn't exactly end the way he'd planned, and now that he's being watched for his words and actions, he needs to find a way off the Homestead. But with both his father and mother concerned for him, it's going to be harder than it looks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I should just force myself to write the summaries because let's be honest, the summaries aren't half bad lol. Enjoy! -Thorne

If the training dummy had been a real enemy, they’d be dead and trampled by now. He reached up, wiping the sweat from his brow before moving back into the routine, palms slapping against the wooden pegs. Thousands of thoughts crossed his mind, and ever since he’d been banned from the homestead manor for a week from his insubordination, they’d only grown more worried. (Y/N), in this world was the Colonial Rite’s deadliest assassin hunter. His wife, the very one who stood beside him, was standing on the opposite side of him now. If she was saved by Shay who was supposedly the grandmaster, he’d no illusions that she was likely in the same position he was. Learning what had happened in their world, wasn’t what happened here. _Of course it didn’t_. He thought. _My parents are still living. And assassins no less._ He shook his head, trying to burn off the concerning feelings. He needed to focus, needed to dig up enough information in order to get back to (Y/N); no doubt she was doing the same. So caught up in his training, he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him until he caught sight of someone standing in his peripheral. Twisting, he pulled the tomahawk from his waist, raising it in defense. The cocked eyebrow from his father made him falter and he lowered it as the man said, “You’ve been here for a long time Ratonhnhaké:ton.” Connor frowned, sheathing the hatchet.

“I need to clear my mind.” Haytham took a step forward, undoing the cloak he wore before moving to his hidden blades.

“Then shall we spar?” The young assassin watched him a moment before nodding, setting his coat and blades aside. They stood a few feet away, circling one another, and his father asked, “I am curious to know why you’re so attached to (Y/N) Cormac.” Connor knew it was bait, and he raised his hands, trying to shield his expression as he countered,

“You say that, but you mean something else. What do you really mean?” Haytham stepped forward, tossing an easily deflected punch.

“You were insistent that she was an assassin and not a templar. Almost like you know more than you’re letting on. I’ve never seen you so passionately defend the enemy before.” Connor brushed off his punch, throwing one of his own; Haytham shifted out of the way but grunted when his son took another step, throwing out his leg. “Is there something you wish to speak about?” His son halted, lowering his arms, returning to an idle stance as he surmised,

“We are not sparing to clear minds, father. You are sparing with me because you think it will distract me enough to tell you what is on my mind.” Haytham knew he was caught, and Connor knew it too because he pointed at him, adding, _“You are digging for information you need not obtain or understand.”_ His father matched his stance, questioning,

“Why are you acting like this Ratonhnhaké:ton? What’s changed in the past night and day that makes you so adamant to protect a templar?” Connor couldn’t fight the anger boiling inside him and he took a step forward, voice holding back his barely contained rage.

_“My thoughts and actions are my own and I do not owe you an explanation for them.”_ Haytham’s eyes went wide at the threat but they quickly narrowed, and he demanded,

“They do if they’re compromising your faith to the brotherhood.” His son shot him one last glance before turning, pulling on his coat and blades.

_“Rest assured father, my faith in the brotherhood is far from compromised.”_ Haytham took a step towards him, pleading,

“Then please, tell me what is going on. I want to help you son.” Connor stopped, fingers twitching in the laces of his hidden blade, and suddenly felt his anger dissipating. It wasn’t his father’s fault he was here. Wasn’t his fault that he and (Y/N) were on different sides. Their reality was different from this one. He let out a sigh, turning to face his father once more, allowing himself to be calm.

_“Father, I understand you wish to help me, but this is not something you can help me with.”_ Haytham’s face twisted with hurt and he added, _“It is not that I do not trust you, it is the fact that the changes are too great to speak of right now. I need to figure them out on my own, and when I do, I will come to you with them.”_ His father opened his mouth to respond, but Connor reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. _“Please father…trust me.”_ Haytham stared at him a moment, then nodded, reaching up to take his son’s hand in his own.

“I do Ratonhnhaké:ton.” He offered a sympathetic smile. “But you know I worry about you. You’re all Ziio and I have…we don’t want anything to happen to you.” Something inside Connor snapped and he looked away, pulling his hand back; his father frowned, but in an instant, Connor had him in a hug, arms wrapped around his back. “Ratonhnhaké:ton?” He reached up, returning the hug. After a few seconds, the young assassin pulled away, reaching up to wipe at his eyes.

“I apologize. I just-” Haytham chuckled, placing his hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t apologize son. I understand.” Connor offered a tight smile, then he cleared his throat, saying,

“I need to get to Boston.” With confusion written across his face, his father asked,

“For what?” He went silent, thinking of an excuse, then he admitted,

“If (Y/N) has escaped her fate then we need to find her.”

“And you think you can?” Connor nodded.

“I have studied her movements for some time. I know where her safe places are.” Technically what he was saying wasn’t a lie. He did study (Y/N). He knew her better than anyone where she’d hide if need be. “I can find her and take her down.” Haytham shot him a look that told him he was unconvinced of his reason, but he said,

“You’ve been placed on watch for insubordination, but if what you’re saying is true, then I’ll take this to Achilles and see what I can do.” Connor nodded and moved to walk to the stairs, but his father grabbed his forearm, warning, _“But do not leave the homestead until you’ve been given leave to do so.”_ A remark of indignation crossed his mind, but he nodded and Haytham continued, “Then you go home, and I’ll go see Achilles.” They climbed the stairs, and Connor watched him leave in the direction of the manor. When he was out of sight, he turned, heading to the stables. As he entered, he was startled when his mother entered his vision, arms crossed across her chest, face set in a mask that screamed _You’re in trouble._

“Mother!” She took a step towards him, questioning,

“And what are you doing, my son? Not leaving without permission, I hope?” The inquiries were rhetorical, and he knew it, so instead of floundering for excuses, he sighed.

_“I was trying to.”_ Ziio frowned, tipping her head to the doors; Connor let out another sigh, obeying her silent command. The two stepped outside and she waved a hand as she passed him.

“Come with me.” His face pinched, but still, he did as she commanded, following close behind her, listening as she talked. “You have made quite a scene today Ratonhnhaké:ton. Many are displeased with your actions.” He hadn’t been scolded in such a long time, especially by his mother that he looked at his feet, mumbling,

“I am sorry mother.” She let out a huff, tipping her head to look back at him.

“I am more concerned with whatever reasons you had that made you act like that.” Before he could speak, she added, “And I heard you with your father. I trust you, but I do not trust that you are telling him the whole truth.” She spun on her heel and Connor went still as she asked, “What changes were you talking about earlier?” He worried the inside of his cheek, trying to decide what to reveal to her and what he should keep silent. Sighing, he said,

“Mother, I awoke yesterday and…and I…” He started trailing off, she tipped her head to the side, urging,

“Yes?” Connor took a deep breath and admitted,

“And I am not remembering things the way they have occurred.” Ziio’s face turned with suspicion, but also concern.

“What do you mean?” He raised a hand, feeling around the back of his head until it met the center of the wound.

“I think I fell and hit my head…I am…” He waved his other hand, fumbling for a vague truth he could commit to. “I am remembering things differently from how they have happened.” She took a seat on a stump, patting the ground next to her. He sat down and she questioned,

“Like what?” Connor swallowed thickly and looked up at her, begging,

“Will you promise to not think me crazy? I know it will sound like I am.” Ziio gazed at him a moment, then nodded and he sighed, “Mother…I watched the British leave the colonies a year ago on Evacuation Day. The patriots won the war…we were free of the Crown and templar control.” Indeed, she certainly looked at him like he was growing a second head and he turned his head, words tasting like soured grapes as he spat, _“You think I am crazy.”_

**_“No.”_** The sudden response made him look back at her and she said, “You must have hit your head. Ratonhnhaké:ton, the British have controlled the colonies since they were established.”

“But the war-”

“The patriot army was defeated at Trenton and Saratoga by the British. However, many of the generals of the Crown spoke to the king and begged him to make reforms in the colonies. Taxes were alleviated as well as the repeal of British soldiers in colonist homes.” Connor went silent and she sighed, “I have heard of things like this happening with head wounds.” She smiled, reaching a hand out to him. “We will help you remember what has happened.” He wanted to smile, but the pending question on his tongue made him inquire,

“Who is _we_?” Ziio cocked an eyebrow and explained,

“Me, Haytham, and Ahyoka.” Connor blinked at her, questioning,

_“Who?”_

“Ahyoka? Your wife?” For a moment, he couldn’t speak, and she watched his mouth open and snap shut a few times before he blurted out,

_“Excuse me? I am not married to a woman named Ahyoka.”_ Her face revealed a stunned expression and she murmured,

“My god…you truly do not remember what has happened recently.” All Connor could manage to say was,

_“Evidently not.”_


	6. A Nightmare Mirrored PT. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hours of pouring over documents brings sleep over her, but when her worst nightmare scares her awake, she realizes she needs to leave, and now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MY SUMMARIES ARE GETTING BETTER, FIGHT ME ON THAT. ENJOY! -Thorne

She watched him crawl along the ground, bloodied gasps escaping him as he tried to flee. Humming, she walked to his side, using the force of her leg to roll him onto his stomach. He went easily, crying with pain as her foot nudged obviously broken ribs. She cocked her head to the side quipping, “I figured you’d have more fight in you, but you don’t, do you?” The hood shielded his vision, but he moaned,

“Do not do this.” A huff escaped her, and she bent down, catching his eyes under the dirtied hood.

“Do what? My job?” Honeyed eyes bored into hers, silent pleas swimming within as he repeated,

“Do not do this. This is not you.” With a burning conviction, she leaned forward, hissing,

_“You don’t know a single thing about me.”_ His face pinched with pain, but the one emotion that showed more than pain was the heart-wrenching devotion he still carried.

“This is not who you are tiakení:teron. You are not what he made you.” She couldn’t help the chuckle and she bent forward, placing her palm to the center of his chest.

_“No, Ratonhnhaké:ton, I am what he made me.”_ Before he could beg, she flexed her wrist, and with a silent gasp, the hidden blade embedded itself in his body. _“I am my father’s daughter.”_ His vision began to blur, and she watched his fingers twitch in her direction as he slurred her name.

“…(Y/N)…” Instantly, the world around her began to shift and she looked up, trying to understand. She looked back down and to her surprise, the bloodied assassin had vanished. It sent her to her feet, backpedaling as fast as she could. She kept moving backwards when suddenly the floor was falling beneath her. A scream tore through her as she fell, and she heard him call her name again. “(Y/N).” This time, it was louder, closer, and she shut her eyes, hands curling around her ears to shut it out. It was too loud. Too much. Too-

_“(Y/N)!”_ Her eyes snapped open and she lurched forward, hand gripping in someone’s coat, the other reaching for the letter opener on the desk. She was riding on pure fight or flight, and all her mind was screaming to her was _fight_. Her fingers curled around the handle and with a quick flick of her wrist she pushed all her force into a strike aimed for their stomach. A hand curled around her wrist, tight and borderline painful as they commanded, “Drop it! Drop the paperknife!” She persisted, trying to yank back her arm when they repeated, “Damnit (Y/N), it’s me! Drop it!” As if her eyes had finally cleared the haze, she focused on her father in front of her. A sharp intake breath and the silver letter opener hit the ground, apologies flooding the captain’s cabin.

_“Oh god, I-I’m sorry!”_ Shay stared at her, but he didn’t relax his grip.

“Are you okay now?” (Y/N) shut her mouth, nodding her head. “I’m going to let go.” He let go of her wrist and she took a few steps backwards, collapsing into the captain’s chair, breathing heavily. He watched as she ran her hands down her face, eyes still wide with distress before kneeling, catching them. “(Y/N), deep breaths. Relax.” She swallowed thickly and shut her eyes, inhaling deeply through her nose before exhaling. After a few calming breaths, she opened her eyes and looked at him. “Better?” She nodded, murmuring,

“Yeah…much.” Shay took his own deep breath before shifting, resting his back against the desk as he sat on the floor, muttering,

_“Christ (Y/N), you’re trying to kill me.”_ Her face contorted with a grimace and she replied,

“Sorry.” He waved it off, reaching up to run his hand through his hair.

“It’s alright…we all have nightmares like that.” (Y/N)’s brows furrowed, and she asked,

“How’d you know I was having a nightmare?” Shay met her gaze, a knowing look in his eye as he said,

“I know a waking nightmare when I see one. Besides, you were screaming in your sleep.” She bit the inside of her cheek and he questioned, “Are you okay?” She reached up, rubbing the tiredness from her eyes, saying,

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot for the past couple days.” (Y/N) lowered her hand, staring at the little scars that lined it.

“…Yeah…I guess I have been.”

“Fine is what we say when we’re trying to hide the pain (Y/N). I know you were in real trouble yesterday, but I feel like something else is bothering you.” Before she could stop it, tears were welling in her vision, heart aching as she thought about Connor. Her dream, no her nightmare, it felt so real, so vivid. She looked at her hands through blurred eyes, imagining the blood that had stained them, and she quickly curled them into fists, ignoring the bite of her nails into the skin of her palm. Shay reached over, gently uncurling them, comforting, _“Hey, hey, what’s going on?”_ (Y/N) shook her head.

“Nothing…I’m alright.” Though she said so, the tears ran down her cheeks, and he fretted,

“Oh no, that’s not gonna fool me.” He moved his hands, cupping her cheeks, thumbs softly brushing away the tears. “Sweetheart, what is it?” She pursed her lips as she looked at him, then asked,

“Can we get off the ship? I need to be on land. I need to be somewhere where I can move.”

“Are you not comfortable here?” She shook her head and after a moment, he sighed, pulling his hands away. “Alright then…we’ll go to the manor here in Boston.” Shay stood, offering her a hand, which she took, letting him pull her up. “Gather your things and we’ll go now.” (Y/N) fell into a silence as she moved, gathering what little of her things she had, mainly her weapons. When she was ready, she looked at him and nodded, following as they exited the captain’s cabin. A man stood at the helm, Christopher Gist as she’d been reintroduced too, but looked down when he saw them coming.

“Ah, Shay, Miss (Y/N). Where are you headed this late?” She offered Gist a polite smile, allowing her father to do the talking.

“(Y/N) said she’d like to stay at the manor until this blows over.” The first mate nodded with understanding, taking her hand in his. He gave it a pat and said,

“I do apologize that you’ve been wrapped up in a mess like this Miss (Y/N). If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” She smiled again and nodded, thanking,

“I appreciate your offer Mister Gist. Perhaps one day I’ll call it in.” He grinned and let her go, watching as they walked off. They slipped in and out of backstreets, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but marvel at the redcoats marching by. “There’s so many soldiers here in Boston.” Shay hummed as he led.

“A good portion of the army returned to England, but even then, there’s still a great deal remaining.” The exited onto a street and as curiosity got the better of her, she asked,

“What happened to the patriot army? _After_ the war, that is?” He glanced back at her as they walked, answering,

“A few of the leaders were executed for war crimes but the remaining soldiers were allowed to go home to their families.”

“Which leaders were executed?” He turned back around, nodding at a man passing them.

“Only the major ones. Washington, Duportail, Greene, Barry, and a few others.” (Y/N) frowned at the mention of the men she’d fought by, muttering,

“Seems like a waste to execute military leaders who have decent knowledge of it.”

“But then-” She huffed, adding,

“But then there’s a chance for another rebellion, yes, I’m aware of that as well.” Shay let out a chuckle and as they turned the corner, a manor came into view.

“Well look at you. It seems you’re remembering things now.” (Y/N) stopped in her tracks, eyes scanning over the building. “Is something wrong?” She felt her face pinch as she griped,

“I was hoping for small and secure, not giant and ostentatious.” He grinned and tipped his head to the doors.

“Most secure building we have in Boston (Y/N).” She couldn’t help but counter,

“We’ll see.” Shay rolled his eyes, waving her to keep moving. “How many people are inside?” She questioned, searching the windows for workers.

“Since this is our manor, it’s just us and the staff.” She grunted in response, though she was glad there weren’t going to be a large group of people. “Though I assume many of the others are still here from the dinner party.” Suddenly, she wasn’t feeling relieved anymore.

“Didn’t think to tell me that before we left?” He hummed in response, sticking the key in the door.

“Me and the high ranking templars in Boston got together to talk about the events of the past couple days and what’s going on with you.” The lock clicked and he opened the door before turning to her but frowned as he caught sight of her glare. “What?” (Y/N) waved a hand, bickering,

“You didn’t think it an invasion of my privacy to tell them that?” In an instance, she knew she’d said the wrong thing because his face darkened and she knew she was no longer talking to her father, but her boss, the Grandmaster; he took a step towards her, voice sharp like a sword as he seethed,

_“Considering the fact that you disobeyed my direct orders, got a member of our organization killed, and setback months of planning? No. No, I didn’t think it an invasion. You made a mess of the plans we had and now we’re having to backtrack and set up new ones.”_ He pointed to the inside of the manor. _“Now get inside the house (Y/N).”_ The last time a man had spoken to her then ordered her around in such a way, she coldcocked them in a blind fury. Rage roared through her veins, but now wasn’t the time and she lowered her head to avoid his angered gaze and hurried inside. The entry hall led to an opening in the dining room which had her greeting a room full of armed templars. Her heart hammered in her chest as she wondered if she should pull her flintlock and fight or turn tail and run when someone clapped her on the shoulder, knocking her from her trance. Looking over, she was met by a smiling older man.

“(Y/N)! Welcome back!” He shook her hand and after getting a good look at him, she replied,

“Thank you, Major General Pitcairn. I owe you-” Letting go of her hand, he waved her off.

“Oh, don’t worry. You’ve saved my ass more times than I count. This was just me repaying the favor.” (Y/N) tipped her head politely.

“If that’s how you feel Major General Pitcairn.”

“You can call me John, (Y/N).”

“Thank you, John.” He took a moment to look her over before her father stepped into the room.

“Your father told us about your memories.” Casting an inconspicuous glare to her father, she sweetly said,

“So I’ve heard.” John nodded at the two of them before assuring,

“We’ll do what we can to make things easy for you. We know-” Tired of being treated like a child, and more certainly, tired of being a templar, something inside her snapped. She needed to get away from this and she needed to hurry with it.

_“No,”_ she cut him off firmly, causing the other templars at the table to glance their way. (Y/N) turned to them, addressing, _“I won’t hide behind comforts. I’ll own up to my mistakes. I fucked up. I disobeyed orders and I messed up what we’ve been planning.”_ They stayed silent, but their gazes told her they agreed. _“I’ve read the reports, I know what happened. We’ve secured Boston, but with Benedict dead and the assassins claiming his assets, it gives them a leg to stand on.”_ She looked back at her father, who seemed impressed and she declared, _“Starting tomorrow I’ll be out on the streets patrolling to see what information I can turn up and get us back on track.”_ (Y/N) cleared her throat, ending with, “On that note, I think I’ll turn in for the night.” Shay tipped his head back to the staircase that was near the entrance.

“Third door on the left.” She nodded before looking at the others.

“Goodnight gentlemen.” She passed her father as she went, but she spared him no glance, still simmering with irritation from their spat moments before. She could hear them talking as she left, climbing the stairs to her bedroom. When she got there, she shut the door behind her and locked it, immediately moving to the window. It pried open easy enough and she shimmied out of it, climbing down the wall. The night had given her perfect cover and she slipped past the evening patrol, sliding under the iron gate. As she ran, she spared one last glance to the manor, then turned back around, muttering, _“I’m on my way Ratonhnhaké:ton.”_


	7. A Nightmare Mirrored PT. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He figured circling places they shared in their memories would bring pleasant dreams. When it doesn't, he understands that this life is messing with him more than he cared for it to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE MOVIN AND GROOVIN! ENJOY! -Thorne

She hung there, arms twisted in the grips of his parents, head lolling to the side, a pitiful look in her gaze. Her lips moved silent pleas as he stepped up to her. He reached down, taking her chin in his hand, tilting it up to the point that she whimpered in pain. “Don’t do this to us…please.” His parents were silent, watching him with cautious eyes, but neither of them cared; he shook his head, murmuring,

“You have become my enemy.” Her eye that hadn’t swelled shut filled with tears and her lips wobbled as she plead again.

“You know that’s not true, darling.” She watched him kneel in front of her, getting eye level with her. “We can still fix this…you have to help me.” His fingers drew down her cheek to her neck and she leaned into them, whispering, _“Ratonhnhaké:ton…please.”_ He met her gaze and flexed his wrist, staring as she gurgled on a bloodied breath. Crimson trickled down the blade to his wrist and he pulled away, watching as she choked on her own blood. His parents let her go, and she collapsed forward, cheek pressing into the dirt as she struggled to breathe.

_“(Y/N)…”_ Her eye twitched, vision hazy as her life began to ebb away. A weakened hand reached for his boot, fingertips barely brushing the fabric before they twitched and stilled. A cold grip settled in his stomach, and he heard his mother’s voice.

“It is done.” He said nothing, simply gazing at her body until his father added,

“Now it’s your turn.” His head shot up and he stared wide-eyed as his parents descended upon him like vultures to a carcass. He turned on his heel, barely registering the scene shifting around him, sky darkening as shadows grew on the ground. He ran until his lungs felt like they were going to explode, but still the sound of his parents’ steps followed him. Suddenly, his foot snagged on a stray tree root and he lurched forward, arms outstretched to catch himself, but he met no ground, tumbling over an invisible ledge. He fell, and the farther he did, the darker his vision became, sounds fading until-

He shot up in the bed, chest heaving with every sharp intake of breath he could get in. Reaching up to press a hand to his heart, he realized his shirt had soaked through with sweat, and he yanked the tunic off, throwing it aside. Connor threw his legs over the side of the bed, hands coming up to thread into his hair as he tried to calm himself. Such a vivid nightmare, the sight of his wife on her knees, pleading for mercy before he took her life. His eyes went wide with terror-he’d dreamed of murdering his wife in cold blood. It made his stomach churn and he pressed a hand to his mouth, willing himself to not be sick. A knock sounded from the outside of his room and he shifted his hand a bit, muttering weakly, “Come in.” He didn’t look up from the floor as the door opened, but the heaviness of the footsteps told him it was his father. Haytham took a few steps into his room, taking a seat on the bed beside him, worrying,

“Are you alright son? It sounded as though you were having a night terror.” Connor grunted, rubbing his palms into his eyes, clearing the sleep from them, though it did little as the nightmare had thoroughly done so for him.

“Something of the sort.” It was an understatement as her face flashed in his mind again, and he shook his head to clear it. “I apologize for waking you.” Haytham huffed a laugh, reaching over to lay a hand on his shoulder.

“Ah, think nothing of it Ratonhnhaké:ton. I was on my way to change clothes. Besides, I’m not heading to bed until another hour or so.” His brows furrowed and he looked at his father, inquiring,

“What time is it?” Steel eyes shifted to the pocket watch he carried, and after a moment, he murmured,

“Half past nine.” Haytham glanced around the room, taking sight of the table cluttered with papers and reports. “What’s going on over there?” Connor shifted his gaze to the table before rising, walking over to move the papers around.

“Mother gave me the reports from the past few years. She said I should start trying to remember what I have forgotten.” The floorboards creaked as Haytham came to stand beside him, eyes scanning the reports, some he’d written himself.

“She said you’d even forgotten your wife.” He could feel his face pinch at the mention, and he grumbled,

_“That is beside the point.”_ He pointed to a specific report from only a few months before. “New York had fallen into templar hands during the Seven Years War, as had Boston. From what I am seeing, New York is being put on the side while Boston is being attacked repeatedly through guerilla warfare.” Connor looked to his father. “Why not focus efforts on pulling the supports before taking out the central stronghold? If New York falls back into our hands, then the templars are forced to retreat to Boston and the surrounding cities.” Haytham cocked an eyebrow at his son’s explanation before sighing, looking over the report.

“I said as such to Achilles. Most ships dock in Boston then resupply for New York. Even if they travel to a secondary location, they’re letting off loads of new templars with each ship they dock at the first. Even still, efforts are being placed in Boston to try and eliminate the main men there.” His son frowned, muttering,

“Guerilla warfare will only get one so far.” He was reminded of his own war on the templars of his world, remembering (Y/N)’s words when she pulled him aside, firmness in her tone as he repeated, _“If you wish to take them down, you pull their supports from beneath them and then when they have fallen to equal ground, then you may strike at their heart.”_ Haytham’s eyes went wide and he questioned,

“Wherever did you get that ideal?” Connor fought the urge to smile, opting to retort,

“An old friend.” He looked at his father, asking, “What did Achilles say about me heading to Boston?” Haytham diverted his gaze and let out a sigh, but he cut him off, saying, “A no then?” His father nodded and Connor agreed, “I see.” He turned back to the desk. “Then I will wait here until I can prove I can be trusted to carry out the mission.” Haytham watched him a moment, then sighed, taking a few steps past him, only to turn and regard,

“I know you have your reasons son, but you’ll have to trust us on this.” Connor didn’t look at him, but he nodded nonetheless, and Haytham cleared his throat, opening the door. “Get some sleep if you can. There are still things here at the homestead that need your attention.”

“Of course, father…goodnight.” The door shut and Connor leaned over the desk, palms firmly planted on the top. The corner of a slip of paper peeked out underneath the reports and he reached over, pulling it out. He laid it across the other papers, staring down at the map of Boston, eyes following the circles he’d drawn in certain spots, all of them places that meant something to the two of them. If she were leaving to find him, she’d be trying each location the same. He took a deep breath before taking the map and shoving it back into the desk before returning to rest on the bed. It wouldn’t be wise to leave now, not while his parents were still awake. No, he’d have to wait until the early hours of the morning to sneak out. He folded his hands in his lap, patiently waiting for the hours to pass him by.

** A Few Hours Later: **

He swore each step he took made the floor creak beneath him, despite the fact that he wasn’t making any sound. The house had become quiet, and with a pressed ear to his parent’s door, he could tell the two of them were fast asleep. He’d dressed moments before leaving his room and descending the stairs, heading for the door. Connor slipped from the house, careful to hide in the darkness as he crept to the stables. He knew he had to be quiet, as Achilles’ room was right next to the stables, and if he made too much noise, he’d be discovered, and all his precious planning and waiting would spoil, quite possibly resulting in a longer suspension. Luckily, he had the stable doors opened and a horse saddled in a few silent minutes.

He led the horse from the stables, climbing into the saddle before he directed it towards the road, ready to be gone from the homestead. As he traveled, he couldn’t escape the feeling that someone had been watching him, but as he reached the exit of the homestead, he spurred the horse, gazing as the buildings became smaller and smaller. Connor turned, eyes on the dark road as he murmured, _“I am heading to you (Y/N).”_


End file.
